Stray Stories
by InfernoAlive
Summary: A collection of short stories/drafts that that for some reason I never published. Enjoy! x
1. Sweet Surrender

**To anyone that remembers me, I'm back! Sort of.**

 **I've decided that I'm not up to starting another novel-length fanfic but instead I'm going to be putting together a collection of short stories/drafts that I never published just to say thank you to everyone that enjoyed my stories before!**

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Clary never did see the appeal in smoking. What was so tempting about inviting a stick of poison between your lips, letting it slowly consume you? Maybe some people found the risk itself enticing, a cheeky knock on death's door before quickly running away? She herself gagged at the thought, confused as to why someone would want to surrender themselves like that. But then, did they really think of it as a surrender?

Maybe to them it was more of an adventure, the daring thrill of it all that made it worth it - the miserable plague that came with it that couldn't quite match up to the ecstasy that they were high on from the very first smoky breath.

The only thing Clary knew for a fact was that Jace Herondale didn't look like he was surrendering anytime soon. At least not at first. She still remembered the first time she'd ever seen him smoking, after school, leaning against a brick wall with a bunch of other guys that were jeering at passersby. Clary remembered admiring the way his hair caught the sunlight, glimmering like spun gold as he turned to say something to the guy next to him. She'd always kind of liked Jace, the sound of his laugh and his rare real smile.

But every time she tried to convince herself to talk to him, something in his stance made her quickly retreat. It was in the confident set of his shoulders, his daring golden eyes… he was miserably, embarrassingly out of her league. And she was more of a loser for even thinking she stood a chance. He was _Jace Herondale,_ and she was just Clary, the girl with no friends and no other interests apart from drawing in her stupid little sketchbook that was slowly falling apart.

Hell, he probably didn't even know her name.

Despite all that, Clary couldn't help but feel slightly betrayed when she saw him take his first drag from a cigarette. _You're better than that._ Jace seemed unconcerned, leaning back as he blew smoke into the air. She imagined poison sliding down his throat, wrapping around his windpipe and squeezing tightly until he lost all breath in his body. Watching him smoke was like watching a beautiful painting being ripped to shreds. Clary just hoped the damage wasn't too severe enough to be fixed.

Over the next few weeks, she noticed small things that no one else seemed to. His laugh wasn't wild and carefree anymore; if he ever did laugh, it was cut short by a raspy cough that only got worse. His smile was broken, cracked around the edges and fractured beyond repair. Jace was slowly destroying himself and Clary's heart ached for him.

In P.E, it was impossible to ignore. Everyone was lined up, bracing themselves to start the 600m run. The sun scorched down from the sky and Clary was conscious of her red hair sticking uncomfortably to the back of her neck. She sighed. Running wasn't one of the things she was most proud of, especially because of her short legs and tendency to breathe through her mouth. _Just great._

Her gaze, out of habit, landed on Jace who was staring out at the track before all of them. His jaw was set, eyes narrowed expectantly as he braced himself to run. If she hadn't have been looking for it, Clary probably wouldn't have noticed how badly his hands were shaking. Jace exhaled, and his cloud of breath drifted beside him. She thought of a ghost, drifting amongst the living, barely there one minute and then completely gone the next.

Then, the instructor signalled the start of the run, their whistle piercing through the air. All Clary knew was that she should run and run she did. The wind whipped her hair out of her face and the ground fled from beneath her feet. Ahead, she could see the legendary athletes of the class speeding along, not breaking a single sweat, and she could hear the heavy breaths behind her of a few of the less fitter ones lagging slightly behind. _I'm not doing too bad! I might actually get a decent time!_

Clary looked forward, scanning for Jace who was probably going to lap her any second. Then it dawned on her that he'd never passed her to begin with. _What the hell…?_ In what world was she faster than Jace Herondale?

Slowing to a stop, Clary turned and froze in shock. He was sickly pale, tan skin leeched of all energy; he'd never looked more weak. Her eyes met his for a brief moment and she was stunned at the stark vulnerability in his.

Then he collapsed.

" _Jace!"_ His name was torn out of her throat and she was at his side in an instant. His golden eyes fluttered open and Jace swallowed slowly, looking bewilderingly up at the sky then at her. His chapped lips parted as if he was going to say something, and Clary realised. _The smoking's done this. He's done this._

It wasn't long before she was pushed completely out of the way and everyone in the class was surrounding Jace, their voices raised and concerned. Clary saw Kaelie pushing her way to the front, a bright pink pout plastered on her face. Everyone knew she liked Jace, but he never seemed to acknowledge it. Now, her shrill voice rang through the air, making Clary wince, "Jace?! Oh my _god,_ what happened-"


	2. Crazy Eyes

**God, this is bad. I wrote this a while ago, back when I was obsessed with Doctor and Patient AUs. It can pass off as a one-shot, but I think if I'd posted it before I would've wanted to continue it and I just didn't have the time, _at_ the time. Hopefully you'll enjoy? ':) **

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Holding my profile card up to the scanner and waiting for the small beep that opened the steel doors had become a big part of my life over the past few months. Ever since handing in my resume to that scary lady behind the huge desk, I'd been desperately looking for a job and some kind of title to put to my name. _Jace Herondale, Architect. Jace Herondale, Lawyer. Jace Herondale, Professor._ Heck, even driving a damn ice cream truck sounded amazing at that time!

My first job interview was a memory best left buried in the back of my mind for all eternity. It had involved a nervous, tongue-tied Jace, a jug of water and a dog. Best I leave it to the imagination. The ones following weren't exactly successful either, what with me not expressing any prominent talents that made it easy for my to-be employers to put me into a certain type of category. I remained stuck, completely clueless as to what I truly wanted to do, and everyone around me seemed unsure of what to make of me and my hopeless-looking future.

"You're not utterly useless, bro." Alec had laughed, after I'd crashed at his place because that day had _not_ been pretty, "Ever think about male-modelling?"

I'd plastered on a fake smirk, "Is this your way of telling me how gorgeously sexy you think I am?" My friend rolled his eyes, chucking a pillow at me that I swiftly deflected with a chuckle.

"Shut up, Jace!" He'd cleared his throat, "Just - have you? I know you're not keen on making money on-"

"No, you're right about that. I want to do something important, something that's not based on my looks." I remember going a bit quiet when I'd said that, a memory taking over my mind of when I'd been 6, getting home from school to find my mum in the bathroom. _The blood was everywhere. Smeared all on the walls like some kind of grotesque war paint. Dripping onto the floor. Mum - she was in the bath… She wasn't breathing._

Ever since I'd found my mum dead, learned that she'd done it to herself because of her depression, that she'd been going crazy, I'd been changed. I wanted to do something amazing in my life, for her to be proud of me even if she couldn't be with me. I wanted to do it for her.

And that's when it had hit me. I'd dressed up smartly for that next interview, knowing in my heart what I finally wanted to do. I had to get this job, or I'd probably end up rotting away in my apartment until the day I died. The office was pristine with cream white armchairs and glass tables with lilies and ivories in clear vases - the kind of place so perfectly clean and elegant you'd be scared to leave a mark anywhere.

A Miss Blackthorn had rose from behind one of those plush chairs, wearing a silver dress suit and neat, black glasses attached to a string of pearls around her neck. "Mr Jace Herondale, I presume?"

I'd shaken her outstretched hand with a smile I hoped had looked professional enough. She'd smiled back, gesturing for me to sit. "So, I understand you've come looking for a job here? I've looked at your resume and I'm quite interested in why you've applied for this kind of job. No kind of experience in this kind of field of work and it's a very delicate field indeed."

I'd nodded seriously, "Of course. I completely agree and only hope that you'll give me a chance to get this opportunity, what with my lack of experience." It had been nerve-wracking, watching as Miss Blackthorn gave me another warm smile, but instead of boosting my confidence, I felt myself breaking down. What made me think I could possibly do what I was implying? I didn't have the slightest idea on how to approach the kind of people I was asking to work with and help. What in the hell was I even doing here…?

"Any particular interest you have in this topic?" The interviewer had asked gently, breaking me out of my reverie. A part of me calmed down and I managed to answer.

"My mother, actually. She, well, was troubled and drove herself to extreme measures because she was too afraid to cry for help. I want to save people like her and give them that hope that I wasn't able to before." I swallowed, blinking back a few tears at the thought of Mum, stuck in despair and endless misery that prevented her from being free and happy.

Miss Blackthorn nodded solemnly, "I am sorry for your loss, Mr Herondale. This inspiration of yours though, that is wonderful to hear and something that would be greatly appreciated in this building. I would be excited to have you with us."

After that, it was rather easy. A few more questions, some paperwork filled out and I was all set to start training in a few days. Finally I had a title; not one that I'd thought I'd ever have but one I couldn't think of living without now.

 _Jace Herondale, Psychiatrist._

…

The minute the door automatically closed behind me, I heard the nurses shouting loudly, a worried tremor in their voices.

"She's not calming down!"

"Just knock her out, and let it be dealt with-"

"No! Didn't you see Mr Herondale's recommendations for her? Too much of that business could cause a serious damage-"

"Where is Mr Herondale?! He's the only one who can get her to calm down properly. His shift should've started by now…"

I knew who they were talking about instantly and a deep, worried feeling grew in the pit of my stomach. She couldn't be having another episode _again?_ That would be the fourth one this week and it was only Wednesday. Clearly the treatment I'd assigned for her the day before wasn't working. Sighing in disappointment, I sped down the hallway, coming to a halt outside her room. Anyone in this institution could tell it was hers - doodles were intricately drawn around the doorframe, strange symbols and people that she claimed existed though I hadn't heard of any of them before and none of them were listed in her files as previous friends and family.

That was what was so dangerous about her: she was so deep into the illusion she'd created for herself that she'd gone crazy convincing herself it was real.

I shook my head, making a mental note to get these scribblings washed off all over again, before entering the room. The nurses flocked around me like a bunch of frightened geese, speaking all at once. I looked over them to see her, struggling and crying as two nurses held her by her elbows to secure her. She was moaning, sounding full of agony even though from what I could tell, she wasn't hurt. Carefully, I walked over and all the nurses fell silent. Her painful cries slowed to a sniffle and she looked up at me through a curtain of knotty red hair.

I'd never got quite used to those big, green eyes of hers. They were so wide and held such startling honesty that they gave me chills every time I met their gaze. But I saw something else in their depths too, reminding me the reason why she was here in the first place. Crazy thoughts dancing in the green, wild and dangerous and out of control. Just like her.

I knelt in front of her, and said gently, "Good morning Clary."


End file.
